


Between a Spy and a Broken Place

by honeyrosekisses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Partners, Durmstrang Tom Riddle, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pining, spies in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 07:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16013360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyrosekisses/pseuds/honeyrosekisses
Summary: When Harry submitted his application to become an International Auror, it was suppose to be a joke.Until he got accepted.Now three years later his job is almost perfect, except for Harry’s arsehole of a partner Tom Riddle.When they are thrown together on a mission to take down a hardcore criminal named The Master of Disguise, Tom and Harry are forced to deal with feelings they buried years earlier.But with a job promotion on the line and both of them looking to get to the top, those feelings might stay hidden forever.





	Between a Spy and a Broken Place

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head to further his point. “Absolutely not. I can’t go on another mission with - with _him_.”

That morning he was excited to receive an owl stating he was stationed for another case. His last on the field mission was several weeks ago and he wasn’t too keen on being stuck with desk duty while others got hands on cases. He craved the adrenaline of the chase. The thrill that shot up his spine every time he fired a spell at a criminal.

The moment he walked into the McGonagall’s office and saw _him_ standing there, Harry’s mood dampened. Only one person had the ability to make him see red.

The bastard had the nerve to smirk as Harry stood next him.

A snarl almost fell from his lips.

Standing tall beside him was Tom Riddle. Impeccably dressed, face smooth and young, and dark blue eyes scanning Harry from head to toe.

Riddle was the most obnoxious person Harry has ever had the displeasure of meeting.

He hated how small Riddle made him feel when they were forced in the same room.

Harry’s hatred, and Riddle’s too, started from their first interaction. Harry was excited to be an International Auror and tried to introduce himself to Riddle, but the older man simply stared at him as if he was contemplating stepping on him like a bug. Not only that, he left Harry’s offered hand hanging in the air in front of the new recruits.

Humiliation swelled inside him as everyone sent him sympathetic glances. And when he found out Riddle was the reason his best mate, Ron Weasley, was wait listed from International Crimes, it was easy for the bitterness and resent to grow.

Three years later, nothing had changed.

Riddle still thought he was better than everyone. His ego and arrogance making Harry write him off as a typical wizard who needed to be knocked down a peg.

Riddle carried around a certain level of intensity, sometimes to the point of suffocation. Harry was always pinned under Riddle’s heavy stare far too many times to count. It made him feel uneasy and he neglected to ignore the prickly sensation in his skin every time Riddle glanced his way. He was also unbelievably charming, manipulative and cold blooded.

Harry preferred to be more calming, softer and passive aggressive with his actions. He believed that people can be good if they choose too and despite what others told him, no one was born evil.

That being said, he knew what both of them in the same room meant. Riddle was an excellent Auror, no one can question the man’s talents and abilities, but Harry could never get past the sheer hunger in Riddle’s eyes every time murder was involved.

It terrified and thrilled him all at once. Riddle was too quick at firing curses. His hexes leaving devastating consequences. Sometimes Riddle fired spells that Harry has never even heard of. Riddle always spoke of his grueling training at Durmstrang and how it prepared him for the Auror Corps when he was just seventeen.

It irritated Harry how Riddle would stare him in the eye as he bragged about how much better Durmstang was at everything compared to Hogwarts.

There was no secret that Riddle was a dark wizard.

People choose to ignore the sinister part of Riddle because he was too damn good for anyone to be upset over it.

Despite Riddle’s greatness, Harry refused to be in the man’s shadow. They were on the same playing as far as Harry was concerned. He refused to be stuck with an emotionless prick for however long the next mission was supposed to be. He was a great Auror with or without Riddle being a thorn in his side.

Minerva McGonagall, the Head of International Magical, Muggle and Creature Crimes, sat behind her large desk with stacks of files piled neatly on top. As usual, her dark gray hair was in a perfect high bun and her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose. Her green eyes lazily between each of them, an unamused eyebrow was raised and her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Yes,” Riddle said tersely, slicing through the tension. He didn’t bother to look in Harry’s direction. “As fragile minded as Potter is—”

“Excuse me?” Harry interjected, his face flushing.

Riddle continued to ignore him and continued. “He is right in this assessment. I do my best work on solo missions.”

“Actually,” Minerva added, cutting off any further arguments. “Both of you have a better chance of success working together on this particular assignment.” There was a slight edge to her voice that wasn't usually there.

“ _Better chance of success?_ Riddle almost got me killed the last time!”

“Almost being the keyword,” Riddle dismissed, “unfortunately you’re still standing before us.”

“What?” Harry snarled, turning to face him. Why was Riddle so tall? It was like he was an overgrown tree. “Do you prefer me kneeling, my Lord?”

Riddle blinked, his upper lip curling as if he smelt something foul. “If you assist. If the rumors are true, you do love being on your knees.”

“You arrogant, son of a—”

“Enough,” Minerva stood from her desk, snaring their attention once more. “ _Enough._ Every time I am in the room with both of you, I feel like you spend more time arguing than breathing. It’s a miracle no one has passed out from lack of oxygen.”

Harry lowered his eyes slightly, cheeks flushing. He accepted her chastisement because he agreed.

He hated disappointing her, but there was something about Riddle that got under his skin. When Riddle was in his orbit, Harry can’t seem to stop, always prepared to get into a verbal spat.

“I’m sorry, Minerva,” said Harry, seeing as though Riddle would never apologize.

“Yes,” Riddle said. “I have talked to Potter about his recent temperament and behavior. I agree with his apology.”

_Bastard._

Harry grounded his jaw, clicking his mouth shut. Don’t take the bait.

Minerva sighed, her eyes softening and she sat down again. “Never mind the personal issues you two share, this is a very important mission,” she said sternly, “one we must take seriously. Our target is The Master of Disguise. They have been around for a little over six weeks. Information on them is limited because no one knows what they look like, who they are, or what their motive is.”

Sounded like a typical criminal. Most had motives, others killed just _because._

But judging how rigid her posture was and the stress lines forming around her mouth and forehead, something terrible must have happened.

Riddle rose an elegant eyebrow. Harry often wondered if he plucked them. “The Master of Disguise,” he repeated, a thoughtful look crossing his sharp features. Yeah, he definitely plucked them. “Why has it taken us so long to find out about them? Six weeks is a long time to go on unseen by witnesses. Is the Master of Disguise the name they go by or their codename or alias here?”

Why does it matter? Harry thought.

Minerva pursed her lips, a tiny frown settling on her face. “I agree. Six weeks is a sufficient amount of time, however, we are dealing with a wizard who isn’t an amateur and we must proceed cautiously. Muggles coined the name Master of Disguise and the name is fitting for the situation. To answer your question,” she paused as if she was debating telling the truth. “Your fellow Auror, Eric Rothschild, was targeted by The Master. His wife was brutally murdered in their summer home in Italy and was pronounced dead yesterday morning.”

The air in the room felt thicker suddenly. Harry thought some poured a bucket of ice of his head.

“Christ,” mumbled Harry, running a hand through his hair.

Eric Rothschild was a good Auror and was an even better man.

He worked with Eric on multiple occasions and preferred his company and partnership over anyone else. Sure, the man was chatty and clueless most of the time, but no one deserved for the family to be ripped apart. His wife had just attended the Annual Christmas party. He just talked to her not too long ago.

And now… she’s _dead_.

“And the other connections?” Riddle asked, not missing a beat. His nonchalance annoyed Harry. How can he remain emotionless as their boss detailed how their fellow Auror lost a member of their family? How can Riddle not be affected by all of this? The Master sounded ruthless and was targeting a member of their department, which can't be a coincidence. Someone leaked information. Or worse, they were hacked.

“Our first theory was that a copycat or a team of people working together so no one can catch all of them at once. But, we know it’s the same person from how they murder their victims and decompose of their bodies afterward. Only intimate details one person can achieve.” A lump in Minerva's throat formed and she coughed to clear it. “The Master first rapes them, only the male victims, and then skins them alive. The bodies are later found in a church or religious site. They use different techniques based on gender.” She grimaced and slid the thick folder across her desk, towards them.

Harry knew what it was and didn’t want to see. Photos and descriptions of Eric’s wife would be in there…

Riddle grabbed the folder, scanned a few pages and paused. “Raped and skinned five Muggle men all around the ages of twenty-seven. Slaughtered eight Muggle women and delivered their limbs to their families or hospitals. Rothschild's wife was the only victim found in a home and dead of apparent strangulation.” Riddle bit his lip, a flash of excitement running through his eyes. “Fascinating…”

Fascinating didn't even begin to describe it.

Harry plucked the folder from Riddle’s hands and grimaced, skipping the photos. It was worse than he thought. “It says here that’s it’s likely they change their appearance every other hour.” He scratched underneath his chin. “No wonder why the Muggle police failed to catch them. They’re a ghost.”

“Precisely why it fell into our hands. A Squib contacted the Italian Ministry and they sent their Aurors to investigate. But since Italy has a small Auror Corps, they had no luck in their findings and sent us the case files instead.”

“What time do we have to arrive in Florence?” Riddle asked, obsessively running his eyes along the witness reports. Harry knew Riddle will spend the rest of night going through each report and studying the photos like a map.

“You’re accepting?” Harry asked, surprised by the lack of protest.

“You think I’m passing up a murder case of this caliber?” Riddle asked, his tone a mixture of mocking and patronizing. It was irritatingly effective. “I despise you as much as I love a good murder case.”

Fury boiled inside Harry’s chest. “That almost sounded sweet, except for, the murder part.”

Minerva blinked, eyeing them curiously. “Great. I’ll let the Italian Ministry know you will be arriving in two days.”

Harry shifted his feet, uncomfortable. This case hit too close to home. And he didn't know how Eric will feel about him trying to solve his wife's murder. “Sorry but I think Riddle can handle this case on his own—"

“I’m retiring.”

The announcement hung in the air for several moments. Harry clicked his mouth and he felt Riddle stiffen beside him.

Minerva sighed and took over her glasses, pinching her nose tiredly. “Is it really that surprising?” she asked with a sad smile. “I’ve been the Head of the International Crimes for over two decades now. Before this, I was a Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts for thirty years. I spent the better part of my youth working, teaching and helping others.”

“So, the time has come where I hang up my hat or let my hair down as I hear some people say,” she smiled, her gaze turning wishful before she blinked it away. “But as my time here comes to a close, another door opens for someone else. Once I put in my retirement letter tomorrow, the department will want a list of people I think are capable of being my successor. Someone worthy of enough to keep things in order. Someone young, powerful and respected amongst their fellow colleagues. The people I have in mind stand before me now.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Out of all the successful Aurors, he was one of two she thought deserved to be Head of their department. All he could think of was having his own office, being the boss and getting the cases firsthand. The feeling of being crowned Triwizard champion dulled in comparison to how he currently felt.

“With that being said,” she took out a quill and started writing something on parchment. “I will briefly describe what you should expect in the next few weeks. Not only am I recommending the both of you, I'll also be apart of the process of promoting one of you. It’s important for you to do well on this mission because it marks the last case for your resumes.”

“After your mission is complete, a panel of elite judges will interview you. They will question you, bring up things from your past that you wanted to forget or have forgotten to mentally, emotionally, and psychologically prepare for the future. A physical, oral and written examination will be conducted on multiple subjects to ensure have mastered your education. In order to prevent bias, you and the judges will undergo a truth serum. It's to make sure you tell the truth and for the judges to critique you.”

“Once this process is complete, one of you will be chosen and accepted to rigorous training program under me and another Auror immediately. After your training is complete, on New Year’s Eve one of you will be sworn in and made the official Head of International Crimes.”

New Year’s Eve. A few months away.

Harry replayed the information over and over again. This will be the hardest thing he will every have to do and going up against Riddle won't be easy.

“Can’t you recommend only one of us?” Riddle asked.

“No,” Minerva said. “There needs to be at least two people in the running for the promotion. And to be quite frank,” a stern look crossed her features, “both of you need to work on a few things. Tom, you are the brightest mind I have ever encountered. Add an excellent Auror on top of all your other accomplishments. You’re actually how I imagined my hypothetical kids to be. However, your inability to follow is concerning. How can you lead your team if you don’t listen to anyone’s opinions besides your own? No one is perfect.”

“Perfectionism isn’t a flaw,” Riddle replied, his nose flaring. “People should always strive to be their best.”

Harry was tempted to roll his eyes.

“Great leaders were once good followers. There’s always something to learn, Tom. And Harry,” she turned to face him. “You’re a brave young man. You turn into a different person when you’re out on the field. You’re sharper, intense, focused and your vibrant energy is unmatched. But your hero complex is your biggest downfall. You can’t save everyone. You can’t lead a team based on luck alone. Luck doesn’t work in the real world and it especially doesn’t work during life threating assignments.”

It's funny, Harry felt like the unluckiest person in the world. If he gets the job, he'll thank his lucky stars then. For now, all he could do is try his best and hope it worked in his favor.

"I appreciate this wonderful opportunity, Minerva," Riddle said, offering his hand and kissed the back of it. "I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors."

Harry gritted his teeth. Riddle was so fucking charming, wasn't he?

"Thank you, Tom, but you’re the one who will be needing the luck. Harry is stiff competition."

"You said it the best, Minerva," Riddle flashed a smile. Harry’s surprised his face didn’t crack from how fake it was. "Luck doesn't work in the real world. Only those you have ambition and dedication get far in life. Potter's luck will eventually run out."

"My luck will run out the same day your ego isn't the size of Earth," Harry bared his teeth. "Looks like we both will be waiting forever, yeah?"

“Don’t make me regret this,” Minerva said. “You both are a reflection of me. Understood?”

After their nods of agreement, she handed them the paperwork they needed fill out. Seconds later, she dismissed them and Riddle quickly walked out of the room before Harry could speak to him.

Riddle was already halfway up the stairs by the time Harry reached him.

“Riddle,” he called. The man in question wheeled away to stare at him.

“I want what’s best for the company,” Harry said, swallowing his nerves. “Whoever they choose, rather it be you or me—”

“Don’t worry, Potter,” Riddle added with a sharp smile. Like a piranha that smells blood nearby. “Once I become Head of International Crimes, I’ll give you a year to find a new job before I fire you.”

Harry’s hand tightened around the railing. “And you think the job is yours already?”

“Yes,” Riddle said bluntly, his confidence making Harry pause. “I knew Minerva was retiring for weeks now. The only person in that room shocked by the news was you. Think of it this way, Potter. The only reason why you are competing against me is because they can’t just hand the job to me. They want me to earn it a little so no one can make claims of favoritism.”

“Or maybe,” Harry interjected. “They think I can do a better job than you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Riddle said, turning to leave. He paused and pinned Harry under a look he couldn’t name. “You’re a good Auror, Harry. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Not even me.”

Harry’s lips parted from shock. Did Riddle just give him a compliment? Before he could demand an answer, Riddle was gone.

∞

“Those two are helpless,” Minerva meowed. “Mating is supposed to be easier than this.”

“My first mate got ran over by a car,” her cat, Claws, replied next to her. “He was supposed to give us pretty kittens.”

Minerva sent her cat a pointed look. One she used to give her students back at Hogwarts. “You started mating with another cat the next day.”

Claws stretched her limbs and blinked. “ _Still_. It was fun while it lasted.”

Minerva sighed. “I have a terrible feeling about this mission," she mumbled to herself as Claws started to lick herself clean. “I should have listened to my father about men a long time ago. But it looks like my perfect guy is only in the movies.”

Claws lifted her head. “My second mate died at the theater. We always went on romantic dates while picking through trash. I would have mourned his death longer but another cat was walking by. It would have been rude for me cough up a fur ball in front of my potential mate. At last I got a date out of it.”

 

∞  
Harry couldn’t focus on his lunch. All he could think about was the fact he was in the running becoming the next Head of International Crimes. One person stood in the way of everything he dreamed of.

The things he could do...the things he hoped to do...the things he wanted to do...the things he needed to do if he was in charge. The power, the influence, the respect. The list was endless. He would drive himself crazy if he thought about everything in one go.

_Think about something else, Harry, before you go mad._

He looked around the lounge and saw Eric Rothschild sitting on the bench near the door. His head was down and he appeared to be lost in deep thought.

Harry abandoned his lunch and walked over to his fellow Auror, pushing away his guilt.

“Eric,” he greeted as the man in question looked up. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened to your wife. I saw…” he clenched his jaw and continued. “I’m going to find whoever this to her. I can only promise that I will try my best to solve this case so you and your family can heal.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Eric said with a sad smile, “You’re the best Auror for the job. I don’t trust anyone else to handle this case but you. I know you’ll do my wife and family justice.”

Justice. Merlin, this was tougher than he thought.

Harry nodded, not knowing what else to say. “Er, when’s the funeral?”

“In two days. It will be held in my wife's hometown in Italy. Her family is debating whether or not to have an open casket since her body is…”

Flashes of skin and bones entered Harry's head before he blinked them away.

Harry reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay. I get it. I wish I can attend to pay my respects. Can you Owl me the address of her funeral so I can send flowers and fruit basket?”

“Harry.” Eric nodded his head. “But it’s not necessary. You’ve done more than enough." He bit lip thoughtfully. "Are you working this case alone?”

“No,” Harry sighed. “I’m working with Riddle.”

“Oh,” Eric glanced down at his feet for a second. “Can I ask you something?”

“Er, sure.”

“Riddle doesn’t like me, does he?”

Tom Riddle doesn't like anyone. But come to think of it, Riddle showed a special kind of loathing towards Eric. Harry assumed it was because Eric was well liked and just as charming. Although Riddle wasn't his friend and didn't deserve anyone protecting him, Harry wouldn't throw him under the bus or gossip behind his back.

Harry frowned and fibbed. “I wouldn’t know.”

Eric looked skeptical. “Really?” his eyebrows furrowed. “He seemed pretty pissed that we worked the Gibson case together a few weeks ago. He even filed a report against me.”

Harry’s brain and heart stopped functioning. “What? What did the report say? How do you know he’s the one that filed it? Who else knows about this?”

Eric blinked at the sudden interrogation. “Woah,” he chuckled. “One question at a time. A friend of a friend told me it was Riddle that filed a report against me saying that he doesn’t that I’m a good fit for this department. I didn't get the details, but I can only imagine what bullshite was written in that report. Can you believe that? Because of him, I’m on probation and I can’t work another case until human resources clears everything up.”

Since when did Riddle have the power to be someone on probation?

“Riddle doesn’t how that much sway in our department.”

“Apparently he does,” Eric sighed. He glanced down at his watch, rising to his feet. “I have to get going…”

“Right,” Harry nodded, wanting nothing more to demand more information from him. “I’ll see you around.”

He went back to his lunch and stared at Riddle’s back as he talked to the Head of Wizard Resources.

What was Tom Riddle up to?

∞

“It can't be that bad, Harry,” Hermione told him the following afternoon.

She sat on the edge of his bed, eyeing him pitifully as he paced around the room.

Harry sent her a dubious look. “You know how Riddle is. He thinks he's better than everyone and has a stick up his arse.” he groaned, running a hand down his face. “This is terrible. I might just kill him before the mission is over.”

“Or,” she said, standing. “You can accept that Riddle is a great partner—” Harry rolled his eyes and she returned the gesture, continuing. “Okay, he's at least better than Rothschild-- oh.” A look flick off her face and her lips pursed guilty. She wasn't going to apologize for the insensitive remark and he was going to ignore it, knowing she meant nothing by it.

The fireplace crackled suddenly and a familiar drawl swept the room. “Potter, you do realize we have a mission in ten minutes right?”

Harry gritted his teeth. “I'm not an idiot—”

Riddle snorted. “I beg to differ. Be down by the Portkey station in seven minutes. If you're even a second late, I'll make sure you regret it.” Before Harry could comment, the fire dimmed and Riddle was gone.

“I can’t believe they think is guy is capable of being the Head of International Crimes,” Harry spat, glaring at the fireplace where Riddle’s head was. “That is what I have to deal with on a daily basis. Sure, he's a good Auror, I'll give him that, but he's terrible human being. No scrap that, that's an insult to humans. He's a robot. A heartless bastard.”

“He’s very handsome.” She eyed him hopefully.

"Yes," he nodded absentmindedly before his eyes widened. “I mean – no. I mean yes, but he's ugly on the inside. Oh— never mind.” His cheeks turned a bright red color.

Thankfully, Hermione decided to ignore his fumbling. She looked sour and then blinked it away, sighing. “Are your bags packed at least?”

“Of course,” he said, patting down his pockets. “Already shrunken in my coat.” He checked the time with a sigh. “I better get going. The train is going to leave in thirty minutes.”

Harry missed her hidden smile as he pocketed his wand.

"Good luck and stay safe. If you die, Ron and I will bring you back to life and kill yourselves for leaving us."

Harry chuckled and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. He climbed inside the fireplace. “Will do. Owl Ron for me?”

“Already done.”

"You’re the best, Hermione," Harry said and with a drop of powder, green engulfed him and he was gone.

∞

“What are you smiling about?” Viktor Krum asked Hermione as he entered her office.

“Nothing,” she said with an innocent smile. “Let's just say Harry and Tom are in for an interesting week. One I planned out perfectly.”

Viktor gave her a curious look. “And this plan includes what exactly?”

Hermione hummed, grabbing the reports from his hands. “A simple mistake like giving someone the wrong travel time can lead to _devastating_ results.”

∞

“I’m so happy you finally decided to reward me with your presence.”

“Sod off, Riddle.” Harry rolled his eyes. “It isn’t necessary to voice your opinion all the time.”

“If I didn’t voice my expertise you’ll be dead.”

“Speaking of death,” Harry eyed Riddle’s outfit. He was wearing his usual black overcoat and a deep green flat cap to match his tie. But it don’t like as horrible as it should have. The hat complimented Riddle’s face, brightening his dark eyes in a gracious way. “That hat and overcoat need to die.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my hat, it’s perfectly in season.”

Harry rolled his eyes again. “Where's the Portkey?”

At that moment, Riddle took off his hat with his tousled curls perfectly intact. A curl fall on his face and he didn’t bother to brush it aside. Liked he knew how good it looked regardless.

Riddle's handsomeness was starting to get annoying. Harry shouldn’t be thinking about touching and running his hands through Riddle’s hair. It probably didn’t feel as good as it looked.

Riddle held out his hat and Harry touched it, feeling the Portkey activate.

"Ready?"

Harry nodded and then they were off.

∞

Tom glanced around the train station in disdain. It wasn’t as crowded as he assumed, but still too crowded for a Wednesday evening. Families gathered together and people traveling to and from work seemed irritated by the nosiness of the children by the bathrooms.

“Take our luggage through checkout,” Tom said to Harry. “Make sure they properly stamp our badges this time. If it’s too much for you to handle I can always hold your hand and—”

Potter shot daggers at him, green eyes brightening beautifully. “Just get our tickets and meet me by the boarding line.”

“Whatever you say, my dear.” Tom flashed Harry a smile and he watched in amusement as Potter huffed and walked towards the checkout.

It was way to fun to rile Potter up. More fun than it should be.

Tom frowned. Pushing those thoughts away, he headed over to the ticket center.

“Two tickets to Florence, Italy,” Tom slid his International badge across the counter.

The man blinked, casting a look around the room. He tapped a button and a privacy vile surrounded them. “Password?”

“Bona fide.”

"Full name?"

“Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr.”

“Identification number?”

“098877.”

“Symbol?”

Tom turned his medallion over so the man can see the official International symbol. He ran his finger over the grey owl and it blinked and flapped its wings, the eyes flickering purple. The authenticity of it making the man smile.

“Excellent,” the man hummed. “Are you looking to board tomorrow morning or evening?”

“This afternoon,” Tom explained. “There’s a train leaving in twenty minutes.”

“I’m afraid that is inaccurate. The last train to Florence was at 6.”

“It’s not 6 yet.”

“Six am this morning, sir.”

“There’s been a mistake,” Tom said slowly, trying not to hex the worker.  
“There’s a train leaving soon.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, tomorrow’s not good enough. We need to leave today and don’t have time for stops many stops in between.”

The man looked down at his book and said. “There is one more train leaving for Florence in ten minutes. It’s Magical—”

“Excellent. Two—"

“It’s a love train.”

Tom paused, thrown off. A love… “What?”

“It’s a couple therapy’s love train. For married couples only.”

“I’m an International Auror the rules don’t apply to me.”

“Actually the rules of this love train due apply. If you’re not in a relationship and your relationship isn't in the need of therapy than you don’t qualify.”

Tom gritted his teeth. Fine, then. He turned his medallion over to contact Granger to sort this out. She was in charge of Time and Travels.

“Darling,” Potter said from behind him.

Tom froze. The medallion almost slipped from his hands when Potter tossed an arm around his shoulder. It was awkward position because Tom was much taller than Harry and he was practically standing on his toes, barely reaching Tom’s shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you can’t possibly get tickets on your own? Do you need me to hold your hand?” The brat said, stealing Tom's line from earlier.

The man behind the counter rose an eyebrow. Tom could practically see the gears in his head turning. “Oh?” he said, perking up. “Are you two together?”

“Unfortunately,” Harry snorted, missing Tom's warning look. He pinched his side, earning a wince from the shorter man. “I’ve been stuck with this bastard for the past three years.”

The man hummed again, writing something in his booklet.

“Harry, shut up.” Tom hissed. Harry glared and his eyes held a glint of stubbornness.

Curse him and Granger for being such idiots.

“Would you say you guys need therapy?”

“Therapy for _me_?” Harry said, tossing a nasty smile at Tom. “No. Him? Yes. He’s psychotic.”

“Perfect!” the man chirped. “The more psychotic, the better. You have passed the requirements to board the Couples Therapy Train.”

Harry’s face paled, panic clear in his voice. “ _What_? The couple’s _what_?”

“Congratulations, my dear,” Tom deadpanned, shoving his _'husband_ ' off him. “We are now married for the next few days.”


End file.
